Touch
by RicaResin
Summary: Noah Puckerman and the people he's touched. Multiple pairings and sensitive subjects.


What in the world do people need to fix themselves?

I don't really know when my life got so fucked, but sometimes I lay in bed and wonder, on those nights when a good jerk just isn't enough to make you pass out. A lot of people would figure it was when my dad left. That probably did make everything worse.

My dad never touched us much. And no, I'm not talking about being molested or some shit. I mean, he wouldn't pat you on the back, or kiss you, or hug you. He didn't even hug my sister, and she was only four. But the night before he left he came into my room, kissed my forehead and said, "Goodnight." I ended up (silently and manly-like) crying my fucking eyes out until I was out cold because I knew this had to mean something and I didn't know if it was good or bad. Sure enough, the next morning my dad's shit was gone, Sarah was on the floor crying, and my mom was going to town on a bottle of vodka like there was gold at the bottom. I took Sarah upstairs, let her go back to sleep, and I think I've pretty much been taking care of her ever since. Maybe it was like those domino things. That was just the beginning and I really couldn't stop it once it started.

It would be nice if I could tell myself it wasn't my fault.

The first time I had sex, I was thirteen. She was sixteen, and she almost got me killed because she was Azimio's sister. It wasn't that big of a surprise to me, really. It was a new experience- and a fucking awesome one- but I'd seen it all before. A girl down the street whose name I can't remember once stripped down in my bedroom because she wanted to "play doctor," and that was in the second grade. Another girl kissed me when I was ten because she wanted to know if my smile was contagious. We tried that out a lot, actually, and eventually decided my smile had to have been because it always made her so goddamn happy to kiss it. But Azimio's sister seemed to seek me out, knew in her mind that I was the one she wanted to "show the ropes." And I didn't protest when she touched me. Maybe I should have.

The first time I touched drugs, I was fifteen.

A friend of mine, Lisa, was having a party. A real party, one of those alcohol-music-strobe light blowouts that high schoolers always had. I was a little young for it, but no one ever seemed to care, so why should I? But before I knew it I had alcohol (stuff a lot stronger than what my mom kept around the house and never noticed me tasting) down my throat and Lisa was dragging me upstairs. This was fine by me, because I figured she just wanted a good time, and I knew how to show girls a damn good time. But the room we went to had five other people in it, and unless I was about to have my first orgy, I figured I probably didn't know what was about to happen. Then a joint was being passed and they were looking at me in this way. In a way that seemed like they were saying, "You do everything else, why not this?" Like, they assumed I was one of those guys that would be up for it. I've gotten that look a lot in my life.

The first time I touched Santana, she was begging for it.

She was one of those girls who knew that if you got the slightest glimpse into her life you'd be able to see how fucked it was, but if you got the slightest glimpse at her you wouldn't look anywhere else. So we did the nasty, every chance, every day, every week, until she met Brittany, and then we had to start dividing up our time unless Brittany wanted to join in with us. I really didn't mind sharing, though, because Brittany was a ditz, but Santana smiled when she was with Brittany. After she was with me she was happy, but she seemed a lot emptier.

I still don't know why Quinn touched me.

Sometimes, she treated me like I was special, like I was showing these private moments that no one else saw, and the fact that she saw them made her care for me. Most the time, though, she just treated me like I was the jackass that knocked her up, like I meant to. But the fact was, she knew I was in love with her, she knew how much I stared at her little cheerleader ass, she knew I was her boyfriend's best friend, and she still came to my house when she felt fat and desperate. She knew I'd make her feel more wanted than Finn ever could. No one saw it that way, though. Quinn wasn't the bad seed, I was.

Mr. Schuester never touches me.

Once again, I'm not going on a daddy kick or saying it _that way_. But I always see him patting Finn on the back and giving Mike a high five, even pushing Artie around in his wheelchair. The only times he even looks at me is when he wants me to do something. (Or stop doing something. Or continue doing something, but stop being so damn annoying about it.) Sometimes he'll even give me these weepy, puppy dog eyes that mean he wants me to be a better me. My mom generally gives me that look right before she compares me to a Nazi.

Mr. Ryerson always touched me.

It's annoying and creepy. I was actually pretty pumped when Berry got him fired, because that meant Ryerson would stop rubbing my back and pushing on my stomach, saying I "have a great diaphragm." (Which I thought was some kind of chick's birth control, so that fucked me up.) But then my weed dealer got busted and Ryerson was the only one around. And then every time I wanted to get wasted, he'd put his arm around me, or cup my face, or hold my hand a little too long when I gave him the money. I would have quit smoking if getting high wasn't the only way I could forget that Sarah was at a friend's because my mom wasn't home, even though she got off work three hours ago.

Beth only got to touch me once.

She grabbed my finger. She gripped it so hard and so long, holding onto it like it was the only thing worth keeping in this world. Then the nurse took her away and gave her to Quinn, and Quinn looked at that girl like she was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. But later, when the hormones wore off and the sweat dried, Quinn said she wouldn't keep her, and I wanted to scream and punch walls. But all I did was nod and tell her I loved her, like a fucking idiot. But that didn't stop me from finding a deserted hallway and crying my eyes out. I was sobbing like I did when my dad left, only I kept making these sounds like I was dying and I couldn't stop.

Hummel wasn't afraid to touch me, for some reason.

I'd always picked on Hummel, ever since we were kids - moving his shit, stealing his hats, loosening his tie. It wasn't because he was a flamer. Sex is sex is sex. I didn't really care. He was just fun to mess with. Then we got to high school and he started walking around like he owned the place, so I started throwing him in dumpsters so he could own them too. I took him down a lot of pegs, but when he found me in that hallway, he just put his arm around me and shut his mouth for the first time in his life. And I was really goddamn grateful for it, because I don't know what I would have done if he'd taken the chance to kick me while I was down. I might have gone ahead and stayed down.

The first time a man really touched me, it was Mr. Roberts.

By "really", I mean really, like you automatically assumed every time I brought it up before. It wasn't rape or anything. I was seventeen and having kinky sex with his wife - consent was there, in most capacities. I guess I just never expected that if a husband came home to see me banging his wife in their bed when I was supposed to be cleaning their pool, their first thought would be to join in. I figured he'd want to bash my face in. But apparently the handcuffs and corset weren't the kinkiest things about Mrs. Roberts, because her husband had known all along and finally decided to join in. And they gave that look again, the one that said they thought they knew me well enough, that just by my looks they knew my head, and knew I would be into a threesome with another guy. And even though they didn't ask, I didn't say no because... because sex is sex is sex and I sure as hell wasn't thinking about anything else while it was happening, now was I?

The first guy I touched without a girl being involved was Matt... I think.

Yeah, Glee Club Matt, Matt Rutherford. His going away party was pretty bad-ass. At least, I assume it was, because I woke up naked on the bathroom floor with Matt asleep next to me and an empty bottle of Jack on the toilet. No one else got that fucked up, but I did because ... I wanted to, I guess. I got out of the bathroom, the house - hell, I was fifteen miles away in ten minutes. And I sat in my car and stared out the windows and tried to remember what happened. What I remembered, I didn't hate.

I think that's what led to me wanting to touch Hummel for the first time.

After I got so wasted at Matt's party I think I might have said some things I shouldn't have, or done something that wasn't normal for me, because Finn started treating me differently. It was kind of like we were bros again, except he kept looking at me like I was about to turn around and kill myself suddenly. And I know Finn is kind of stupid, but even he isn't that dumb, so it makes me wonder what I did when I blacked out. But I wasn't complaining because we were hanging out again and being best friends and I liked having that back. With his mom dating Kurt's dad, it meant I hung out with Kurt a lot more too. He acted the same, but I guess I didn't. Eventually he was asking what was wrong with me, in a way like he thought I'd hit my head, not like he thought I was breaking. I told him I thought I was bisexual and he needed to stop bending over unless he was going to do something about it. He got all blushy and left the room and I had a smile on my face for a long time.

He didn't kiss me the first time until he was drunk.

I wasn't pulling out all the stops like I would with anyone else. Mostly it was because he was a dude, and unless you counted some other person's husband shoving his dick in my mouth while I fucked his wife or a friend with a sore ass and a bottle of alcohol, I didn't have much experience with going after men. But I stared when he entered the room, and I leered when he moved, and I stayed a bit too close when we stood, and if his heavy breathing and sexy-how-low-do-these-go-blushes stood for anything, it must have been working. At Santana's end of summer bash he was drinking those frilly drinks and I was wearing that black shirt he said looked co-tour or something, and it must have been enough, because he was on my lap in the guest room with his tongue down my throat before eleven.

But we didn't get down and dirty.

We made out, and every time my hands went under his shirt or in the back of his pants, he slapped them away. We fell asleep on the guest bed without a single piece of clothing gone. When I woke up in the morning, he seemed to wake up at the exact same time, and he didn't blush this time or stammer or make excuses like all the others. He just smiled that weird little smile where his lips went really thin and told me he hoped I realized I wasn't getting any unless I dated him. He didn't assume this was a onetime thing, and he didn't get uncomfortable because he was drunk, and he didn't make me be his bad decision of the summer. He just grabbed my hand and asked if I was hungry and that ... Well.

Would it be too gay if I said I think I was touched emotionally that time? Maybe that's all you really need.

-


End file.
